Alone!
The rooster crows early morning,
But waltz in the afternoon, spreading,
One wing to the submissive not clucking hen,
The hungry crows arrive with kith and kin,
With ear piercing cawing just to scavenge,
The grasshoppers, beetles and the birds chirp for free,
Hamster squeaks playing with the mate,
Squirrels squeak running for the food,
The dogs bark threatening every dude,
Occasional humming from the hummingbirds,
Still I feel alone in the safety of my home.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Where Do the Crows Go
I see and hear less Crows in Spring.
Where do the Crows go?
While the Morning Doves chirp,
And the Bluebirds sing.
At dawn I use to hear the Crows...
From the rooftops and fences,
Do that 'crowing' thing.
And now that Spring has arrived,
I do not see a Crow around.
Where do the Crows go?
That's what I want to know!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Chattering
Clucking, clucking goes the hen
Across the barnyard again and again
With worthless chatter, as that hen gets fatter
Clucking about what or even who knows when.
But soon no more clucking will be heard,
As on my dinner plate I will serve that bird.
Gossiping, gossiping goes the wife
Another facet of her busy life
Telling her stories, about men, women, girls and boys
Bullying, infidelity and physical abuse is also rife.
But one day though all of her gossiping will end,
When she loses her husband and she has not a friend.
Squeak, Squeak goes the mouse
As it darts in and out and about the house
Throughout the day, food is its only prey
Ends up frightening myself and the spouse.
But soon enough mousie it will find its bread,
As it will be in the trap and it will be dead.
poem by Randy McClave
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Futility
The scarecrow dressed in cast off clothes.
Sticks grimly to his given task
But does he frighten off the crows,
that is the question we must ask.
When he is new perhaps he will
but crows are wise and realise.
This ragged figure stands stock still
and will not take them by surprise.
He cannot move, inanimate.
Which leaves then free to eat their fill.
A guardian quite inadequate.
He does not and he never will.
Frighten the crows who are too wise
to be afraid of straw stuffed clothes
Though he appears in manly guise
he can’t deter the hungry crows.
The scarecrow fails in his attempt.
He never really stood a chance
Crows treat him with amused contempt
and disregard his vigilance.
5-Aug-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Crows
THEN, suddenly, I was aware indeed
Of what he said, and was revolving it:
How, in the night, crows often take to wing,
Rising from off the tree-tops in Drumbarr,
And flying on: I pictured what he told.
The crows that shake the night-damp off their wings
Upon the stones out yonder in the fields,
The first live things that we see in the mornings;
The crows that march across the fields, that sit
Upon the ash-trees' branches, that fly home
And crowd the elm-tops over in Drumbarr;
The crows we look on at all hours of light,
Growing, and full, and going these black beings have
Another lifetime!
Crows flying in the dark
Blackness in darkness flying; beings unseen
Except by eyes that are like to their own
Trespassers' eyes!
And you, old man, with eyes so quick and sharp,
Who've told me of the crows, my fosterer;
And you, old woman, upon whose lap I've lain
When I was taken from my mother's lap;
And you, young girl, with looks that have come down
From forefathers, my kin ye have another life
I've glimpsed it, I becoming trespasser-
Blackness in darkness flying like the crows!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Little Red Rooster
All right, listen now. at this time I would like to introduce a friend of ours,
A very talented guy named john sebastian. come on man.
Man, thats what I call a new york joint, man!
You can pick your teeth with a new york joint!
Well, Im the little red rooster
Too lazy to crow the day.
Little red rooster
Too lazy to crow the day.
Keep everything in the barnyard
Upset in every way.
Dogs begin to bark
The hounds begin to howl.
Dogs begin to bark and
The hounds begin to howl.
Look out strange cat people
The roosters on the prowl.
Yeah, dogs begin to bark
The hounds begin to howl.
Dogs begin to bark
The hounds begin to howl.
Look out strange cat people
Yeah, the roosters on the prowl.
If you see my rooster
Come on man, drive him home.
See my rooster, babe
Come on man, drive him home.
Aint been no peace in the barnyard
Since my little red rooster been gone.
Well, Im the little red rooster, babe
Too lazy to crow the day.
Well, Im the little red rooster, babe
Too lazy to crow the day.
Keep everything in the barnyard
Upset in every way.
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Boring Day
as he opens the window
there is only the shadow of leaves on the trees
on a gray background
it is twilight, midway between night and day
sounds of a cold wind from the forest
the rooster crows and some chirping birds
you sit and gaze through the window
light comes in
this happens everyday and there is nothing significant
after 49 years, and this time a hole is bored inside your heart
you fear that love is gone.
that the birds do not chirp musical notes
the wind much colder now and you shiver
light seeps in trickles like rain on your wrinkled skin
it is the same morning, and it will be same mornings all over again.
you do not move. You let time go and your hands are frozen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the backyard a cock crows
In the backyard a cock crows
from a plot surrounded by walls of steel
while a dog lies in the sun where he is making a din.
In the backyard a cock crows
half astonished the hens peer at him
where in the early afternoon they how and peck.
In the backyard a cock crows
from a plot surrounded by walls of steel
poem by Gert Strydom
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Little Red Rooster
(dixon)
I am the little red rooster
Too lazy to crow for day
I am the little red rooster
Too lazy to crow for day
Keep everything in the farm yard upset in every way
The dogs begin to bark and hounds begin to howl
Dogs begin to bark and hounds begin to howl
Watch out strange cat people
Little red roosters on the prowl
If you see my little red rooster
Please drive him home
If you see my little red rooster
Please drive him home
Aint had no peace in the farm yard
Since my little red roosters been gone
song performed by by Rolling Stones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy Easter
Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?
To strut and cluck for someone sleeping,
To get up.
And do that if programmed before the dawn shows up.
And if that rooster gets into a rut...
Who will then do the clucking?
Or wake up,
To collect the eggs!
Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?
To strut and cluck for someone sleeping,
To get up.
And do that if programmed before the dawn shows up.
And if that rooster gets into a rut...
Who will then do,
The clucking?
Or wake up,
To collect the eggs!
'Happy Easter'
~Do you notice anything different about those eggs? ~
'Yeah!
They are colored.
Why? '
~They are for the Easter Egg Hunt.
Put them back.~
'Oh!
I must be dreaming.
I thought I heard a rooster crow.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Common Crow
The Common Crow, "Caw-Caw"—with its familiar sound
Is a harmless bird very adaptable on land
Almost all over the world it is invariably found
Except in South America, Antarctica and New Zealand.
It is of average size—in color—grey and black
And abounds, teems and thrives in many numbers
Where other birds' survival is considerably slack
As it is the most intelligent of its bird family members.
The Ravens, Magpies, Rooks, the Black-birds
And the Jays—all belong to the family of the crow
They are all hunting migratory birds
Who forage together like the crow.
It has shining black feathers, is clever and curious
It is omnivorous and the diet is very diverse
It eats grains, rodents, insects and is mischievous
And swoops down to grasp things from man's source.
It roosts in large trees high up
Each mating pair has its own nest
Which usually takes one to two weeks to build up
Gathering leaves, feathers, sticks and twigs best.
Baby crows stay in the nest
For up to two months before leaving
The mother crow guards them with zest
And the father crow feeds the family striving.
The young are flesh-colored and born blind
Their eyes open for the first time after five days
The young ones- the family together mind
The elder fledglings tend to help in their own ways.
In Hinduism it is customary to offer food
To the crow before taking the meal
And it is supposed during ‘Shraddha ‘expired ones would
Take food and offerings through the crow's feel.
The crow often lives together in large families
An assembly of crows called a ‘flock of murder'
Forge together and defend their territories
Even high up in the air and down under.
It caws and calls the other crows to its station
To take part of the food that is found
It shows signs of planning communication
Which man must consider and himself bound.
The bird's propensity to raid crops of grain bead
And storing tidbits in trees and crevices in bark
Is the reason ‘Scare crows' are put up to mislead
The crows flock of flights on the crops to embark.
Many crows are surprisingly monogamous
They mate for life and are throughout a pair
The crow belongs to the species Corvus
And up to twenty years it may live with care.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Willow tree by the lake
Willow tree by the lake standing tall since the day one
Home for birds and squirrels, place of fun
Breeze will come and play with her branches
Whistle at them before they move on
Any time, at mid day, at night or at the crack of dawn
Humming bird feeder and bird house hanging all over the tree
They swing back and forth and hang free
All summer it is a fun house as the birds come and go
Rabbits will hop around on the ground below.
Ducks will sit idle or sleep under her shade
Squirrels will carry food up the trunk, not afraid
During winter when nature sleeps no life around
Willow tree will shelter the birds, the squirrels
and even the worms under it's ground.
Many yrs ago I planted the tree, saw it grow day by day
Sat under it, wrote poems, it made me happy and gay
I know one day my time will be up and I will be gone
But my willow tree will still be here, singing with the wind at each dawn.
poem by Syed Karim
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Salad Poetry & Salsa Dance
…thus riding on a memory-bicycle those people who used to go to pick up dry straws grasses twigs from the daily-payment of the squirrels are neither the husband of anyone nor the wife at the best they may be one page full of must-dos regarding keep-fit practice of one’s health…
around the grazing field of the night-gowns
in course of a long-journey by train one has to cross
many grass-hopper points
one-piece of life is this
in its daily walking to pick up the pebbles of
which is the amplification of what
the bodies of all prose and poems are touched with
by the sunshine by the wind by the rain by the water
it-may-be-for-you afternoon is running
running
is the people after the office-break
running are the broken people
the sullen public
due to late-running of train
before the darkness sets in
on bare branches of the tree
clusters of crows
are running
forward steps of the return-home people
are running
many invitations has been remained
unattended … accumulating…
accumulating…
so much anger… many secret pains… tears…
the life is running
in the rows of the flying birds
the life is running
in the meat-houses…
in the shopping-malls…
in the churches…
in the wheat-fields…
running … running … running…
salad poetry and salsa-dance are also
running…
in the letters of the alphabet…
in the swarm of mosquitoes…
from William Shakespeare to Rabindranath Thakur
the sky is running …
the air…
the sunlight…
poem by Murari Sinha
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Quit My Gardens, O Crows!
quit my gardens, o crows!
&
o noisy quarrelsome crows!
quit my gardens-
o birds of all feathers!
of different melodies!
of lonely bushes and thickets!
of far-away lands!
come here! visit me!
grace my gardens and groves!
nay, all yours, your heavens!
no, ours!
sing singly; sing in chorus!
melt in sorrowful strains;
and in joyous tunes!
but o hoarse-throated crows!
vacate my gardens
and retreat to the forest!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Crows for Konstantin
Crows.
The noise of conflict dies away.
Those left alive will now depart.
Only the dead allowed to stay,
they have no further part to play.
The warring sides in full retreat
The crows tonight dine on fresh meat.
Though neither side claims victory.
The crows will feast quite happily.
Since man first slew another man.
It seems to be Dame Natures plan.
The crows will feast on the remains
The scavengers alone will gain.
While warring sides must count the cost
of fighting men that they have lost.
Perhaps one day we’ll realise
In war there are no victories.
Bar for the crows who do not fight
but satisfy their appetite.
On those who do who in their view
Choose to fight. they don’t need to.
Although in death they feed the crows.
I don’t suppose the crows oppose.
The idea that men come to blows.
Nor do they care I must suppose.
The only winners are the crows
who feast until they’re comatose.
On what is left of those who chose
to risk their lives exchanging blows.
Sunday,09 May 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Hungry Squirrel
It is the winter of 2001;
’Tis raining cats and dogs;
A hungry squirrel madly runs,
In frantic search of food!
It can’t control its hunger pangs;
The weather’s damp and cold;
There is no sign of any food;
How can it remain warm?
The guava-fruits have disappeared;
Papayas are unripe;
The Pea-fowls guard the Palmyras;
There are no wild berries.
The squirrel squeaks quite endlessly;
Its warmth is running out;
Perhaps, it thinks of grandpa-days,
Of juicy fruits and nuts.
But soon, the squeaks have feeble gone;
Did the rodent find some food?
Nature often cruel turns,
Leaving the beasts unfed.
The Squirrel hasn’t turned up, of late;
Is it then dead or gone?
Starved to death by Nature dear?
Or perhaps still alive!
While men can go and purchase food,
What can these poor beasts do?
Yet, Mother Nature cares for them,
Much better than me, you!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-16-2001
poem by John Celes
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I Dreamt...
i dreamt...
i was dead,
and they'd buried me
on a hill with
a small stone marker.
and i watched
as seasons passed,
one by one,
in constant rhythm...
the years went by.
and no living being
ever visited my graveside,
except for black crows...
again and again,
black crows!
the caw of the crows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Madness of Deforestation
Natures Majestic Trees still, mighty,
Clawed feet grips mother earth deep,
Together holding ground as their own,
Reaching tall breathing out for others life to keep,
Vying for canopy rights, claiming the high blue sky.
Morning sunshine paints its mascara tints,
Shading green, lighting brown glinting green,
A pleasure to see the sea of leafy glints,
Amongst this growing life stands a dead giant
Like a floundering sailing ship in the cruel sea
Now a wonderful perch for the crows choir singing
“NO TREES NO ME, NO TREES NO THEE, ”
Stark dead arms reach out leafless, fingers pointing
Death comes slow to the giant that held the earth together.
Crows cawing out their signature song piercing the silence,
With their timeless silhouettes of black feather.
“Look what do you see besides this dead tree,
Caw caw, caw caw caw!
Uproot them are all for a mirrored vision of thee,
You cannot play with Mother Nature’s law.
After dearth there is no earth!
poem by Ken e Hall
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Woe to the house where the hen crows and the rooster is still.